


human

by smyjnist1204



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Some mention of sex but ok, Vore, and die die die, and y'all are mature teens, for now enjoy the feels trip, i cried writing this so that's fair warning, i might update with betaed ver, its not explicit, soul consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7804045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smyjnist1204/pseuds/smyjnist1204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, we were all human. // the story of a white bread boy and his personal Reaper.<br/>Takes place after the Second Crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	human

**Author's Note:**

> please note that this may sound at times a bit canon divergent with dates, but just take it as artistic license xD

_Dead, not alive, but human inside._

_The burden is mine._

_Open me up, there's more inside of me._

_Now turn the key._

_Dead, not alive, but human inside._

_The burden is mine._

* * *

We were all, quintessentially, human inside. There are traits that make us human, emotions, instinct, the bodily limitations...the want for the warmth of another human.

It was once said since the birth of time, that no man would live alone, and even if the argument was for Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, Jack Morrison would never deny the fact that he needed, and longed for the touch of the occult, his spectral, ghastly lover.

It was the year 2115 and there was no cryogenic preservation. In the wake of the Second Omnic Crisis, which had waged on for 10 years ending in 2090 and its aftermath which took another 15 years, the world was extremely backward, and machinery and scientific advancements were still met with lots of resistance. Jack was barely lucky that he had been allowed to be a willing test subject of Angela’s preservation technology, not revival technology, that had been confiscated by the new World Council, to live until he was 90.

But death comes for all that are human, and he had to thank God he had his own personal Reaper. The aftermath of the Second Omnic Crisis, where he had fought as a low-down, foot soldier with “surprisingly good reflexes” and battle knowledge had been so much bloodier than he had remembered the first Omnic Crisis to be, and so much more riddled with emotion as the world had split itself into two, and many had rallied with the Omnics instead, causing much more casualties than was really needed. Not to mention that in the wake of the First Omnic Crisis, what with the movements of Tekhartha Mondatta and his band of Omnic monks and their half decent (according to Zaryanova) teachings, many had adopted the brand of Omnic spirituality and some had even taken to mechanical augmentation as a result.

The mechanical augmentation made him question if the humans he faced were true human, or mechanical, and if they had been improved on, were they human any longer, or some by-product of a world that blazed past way too fast? And if that was the case, then what was he? Him and the rest of Overwatch, relying on various augmentations, injections and mechanical parts to replace that which was lost as a side effect of war?

He heaved a sigh, knowing that he was way too old for this anyway. A fine scattering of black particles hovered in the air, catching the light, like how black opals reflected the light, extremely fine dust that was as ominous as it was friendly. For the past few days, Gabriel had been visiting the old man, and while he never bothered with speaking, he would sit in the chair by the window, mulling over various matters. Sometimes, when Morrison awoke, he would hear the soft twanging of a classical guitar, and the odd, strangely percussive way that Gabriel would strum his guitar.

It wasn’t soothing, but it wasn’t bad either, almost as if Gabriel was trying to translate the agony of losing him into a tune, the way the guitar matched the rhythm of his heart. He knew Gabriel was a cardiophiliac, oft threading his fine plumes of smoke down into his body, and into his bloodstream, making his heart beat faster, not only from the proximity of them both, but the way that those cells, in its degenerative-regenerative mutated state, had the potential to stop his heart entirely.

Gabriel loved being in his veins, even if only for the slightest bit, the way that the blood flowed across the entire map of his body, right down to his legs, and it felt like they were conjoined in a way that would have never been possible outside of such modifications to the Latino. Morrison loved every second of the moment, from the way that the mutated cells would hurt him at times, yet tickle his insides, and make him feel more alive than he ever had felt, or the way that the corporeal form of the very man would press his lips so tenderly to Morrison’s nape, worshipping the body that he had so longed for.

Perhaps, it was perfect for him then, that he should die in the most beautiful of ways, after all, Gabriel had always said he was like Michelangelo's David. Even as he grew old, somehow, his physique had remained, with little to no upkeep. He assumed it was a side effect to all the chemicals they had injected into him when he was but a mere youth. Even his senses had remained sharp enough, save for his eyesight. He grasped at the dust that was floating around, even without most of his sight, he still could see enough to know that particles of Gabriel floated around in the hospital, and even on his deathbed, he could feel the other’s silent, undying devotion to Morrison.

_“Jack, stop it,” Gabriel’s voice floated over to Morrison silkily, although his back was obstinately turned to the other. “I am not ‘voring you’ or however you call it, I am most certainly NOT consuming your soul.” He fought the urge to light up in the hospital, for all the right reasons, instead playing with the empty canisters on his belt absentmindedly._

_There was various reasons why he would never consume Morrison’s soul, the greatest being that he would never be able to exact proper respect to the man himself, and a much more personal one, that should he consume Morrison’s soul, what with their bond they shared...Gabriel just wasn’t ready for the potential emotional onslaught he would face. He already knew that consuming a soul of someone close to him would evoke something like a memory reel, and that it would not be easy to concentrate on the task at hand of consuming a soul that was so bound to him._

_The last time, he had almost lost himself, and track of time, and his entire body had dissociated repeatedly at the strongest memories. He clenched his hand around empty air, the talons clicking impatiently against each other as he struggled internally. While he would love to consume Morrison, to bond with him and literally live with him inside his heart...Something about him feared for the state the body would be in when he was done. Jack looked over at him, confused, and he made the mistake of turning back, seeing that wrinkled, worn out face. Something in his heart stirred, and he swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to choke down the feelings that were threatening to surge forth and consume him whole._

He stood at the door, the only visitor, really to Morrison. He remembered when Morrison had first been hospitalized, and although Hana and Lucio had asked to visit, he had been inside all the while, his voice snappy and gruff, and practically refusing anyone to come within ten yards of the bed, grumping and stewing all the time in the corner. McCree never showed, and he assumed the obvious, that the man had not wanted to see Morrison in such a state, preferring to remember him as the Strike Commander, and in the Second Crisis as a soldier, a valiant one at that.

As such, Morrison had had a relatively quiet, if not lonely stay so far, what with Gabriel being the only visitor, save for Reinhardt or Torbjorn in the dreams of the old man’s, and Ana trying to slip in, wheeling her fragile self in obstinately, to which Gabriel would click his tongue and rush to help her into the ward. Both were at the tail end of their lives, with only Gabriel as the single survivor, and not a good one at that. Sometimes _,_ he thought to himself, _would it be better if I had just passed at Zurich? I mean, there is no use in living, outliving alone as this monster._ They were once three musketeers, one for all, and all for one, and war and prestige, along with the politics of the world had torn them apart.

He heaved a heavy sigh. At least Angela Ziegler was still around, the doctor having preserved herself through illegal technology, leaving her but only around the age of forty biologically, while she was, by year of birth, much closer to the age of nearing 70. At least he still had a friend, albeit one that he had taken ages to warm up to, owing to his history with her, and his endless amount of animosity he had felt at her experimentation on him and subsequent botched revival.

He knocked on the door to signal his arrival, knowing that while Morrison had been generally still alright the past few days, that there was a part of him that was failing, not only from his liver but to his entire body. He still looked so functional, so strong, but Gabriel knew, his time on this earth was up, and it was only by the grace of a supernatural being that they should still be able to meet even now. He tried to crack a smile, tugging nervously at the strings of his deep grey hoodie as he bit his lip, mustering up the best smile he could.

“You're not ok, Gabe,” Jack croaked, his head turning to face the man slowly. “Stop smiling like that, you know this is killing you as much as it’s killing me.”

“Pendejo, it's my fucking mouth, so guess what. I'm smiling for you, to see you one more day is better than nothing,” he quickly shot back, before overthinking and the tears at his lover’s concern could overwhelm him. 

“Don't give me that shit, Gabe, I've known you for God knows how many years. I know when you're alright and when you're not,” Morrison replied sternly. Gabriel shrugged, crossing the floor effortlessly with a few wide strides to plant a kiss on the other’s forehead. Morrison clutched at Gabriel’s jacket, indulging in smelling the faint trace of spices and cologne that was distinctly Gabriel, making his way up to Gabriel’s collar and the exposed column of his neck. 

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“Jack, it's only been a day, I was out on a mission,” Gabriel whispered. “But I miss you too.”

Morrison shook his head as he wrapped his arms around Gabriel, pressing ever closer.

“No, I missed you.”

 It struck Gabriel like a bolt out of the blue, what Morrison truly meant then by missing him. He let out a shaky sigh, bending such that he was now face to face with Jack.

“I'll miss you too,” he whispered, a slow but shaky shit-eating grin spreading across his face as he tried to keep his front. Morrison batted his face weakly, clicking his tongue.

“You're such a bad liar, you idiot.”

“Not as bad as you, ángel,” he mused, voice cracking ever so slightly. Morrison just shook his head in response, as if giving up on the impossibly stubborn man in front of him. It's ironic, he thought, that the man who was truly the one with the angelic name would be calling him an angel, but what a stark contrast the name Gabriel was to the actual man himself, who adopted the moniker of Reaper, an agent of Hell more than of Heaven itself.

 He disentangled himself from the embrace of Reyes, blue eyes searching brown ones instead as he wordlessly reassured himself of the real truth and meaning to Reyes’ words. The man was terrified of losing him. Letting go would be extremely hard then, and neither wanted to confess to it just yet. He leant back against his pillow, while Reyes busied himself as respite, pulling out some empty cups. Not from his shadow self, actual cups. Morrison chuckled internally at the thought as much as he could muster, accepting the mug carefully with trembling hands.

It was a warm mug of tea.

He took a sip, the milk still mixing with the tea, watching as the patterns swirled calmly across the surface of the tea. With every second they let tick past in silence, Morrison journeyed ever closer to the next stage of life. If he was any more a child, it would have terrified him to think of the edge, but fight the urge to run from such a pacifist, normal ending he would, because the truth was that it no longer bothered him anymore.

Gabriel turned back to face him, pulling Morrison close again, the smell of coffee on his lips. Small talk and friendly words were exchanged as Jack sipped lamely on his tea, laughing, the banter slow but deliberate, no longer the boisterous and rapid fire way that it was in the past. The decline was steady and slow, in small steps such that nobody noticed, not even Gabriel. He thought it was normal, as he sat in the chair by the window again, a small novel in his hands and one earbud in and the other out, as Morrison set down the mug, his hands trembling slightly.

 _He’s held the mug for a while_ , Gabriel thought. Which was, in essence, rather true. All the while that they had been talking, Jack had not set down the mug, instead slowly sipping from it. Gabriel mentally ticked off the checkboxes for Jack’s tea time once more, a rhythm having settled into him from visiting Jack frequently.  

_Old habits die hard._

He flipped the pages of his novel, humming a tune that they both loved and grew up with as a result of their parents, the main theme from Chariots of Fire. While not a religious man, Gabriel was well accustomed with many religious tunes and the like, as Jack used to go about singing in the bathroom, and some would be the very songs he had performed as a little choirboy. He used to laugh at the tunes, before realizing that he could make performances of them on his guitar, much to Jack’s delight.

Although neither of them were particularly religious, having the notion of having committed sodomy in the backs of their minds, it still was a point by which Reyes as Reaper used to prevent himself from dissociating badly during any mission and keeping his corporeal form, the quiet silence and peace of all these hymns and tunes. Gabriel drained the last few drops of coffee before really noticing something was wrong with Morrison, his gaze seemed to be a bit glassy, and his breathing had grown shallower.

“I’m calling a nurse, Jack,” he instinctively spat out, his entire body poised over the call button, fingers all but stabbing it furiously. To his credit with the super soldier augmentation he experienced, Jack still managed to catch Gabriel’s hand but nanometres away from obliterating the call button.

“Don’t,” he managed faintly, having all but given in to fate. “I...don’t have anymore regrets just if you’re just…” His words and sentences made no sense, as he took a gulp of air, trying to reclaim his thoughts. Gabriel knew, and his hands lamely dropped the call button. They were skating near the edge. Dull horror flooded Reyes’ mind. 

He desperately doesn't want to hear it. Just as desperately, he doesn't want to say it, railing against his mind violently. Right now, he was losing his best friend, his lover, and that was bad enough.

He trembled, not knowing if he could stand to lose more. He cannot look at the future, empty as it was without Jack, and admit that they could have had anything other than the turbulent friendship and relationship they already knew. So, if he looked down that road now closed and saw something else there, always glimpsed but never reached for, never acknowledged, it might really break him for good. And he kept his tears in, shushing Morrison with a lonely, tender kiss that rended his heart asunder.

He wished he could patch a failing human body up, but he’s not God, he’s not Angela Ziegler with a caduceus staff, he’s no miracle worker, just a man of smoke particles. In any case, there was no way even the staff could reverse time magically to save him. Time mocked him like a playground bully that he couldn’t fight against, its face sneering at how he was falling apart on the inside, knowing that after Jack’s time on earth was up, that he as a genetically engineered immortal would be alone for life.

Jack closed his eyes, his face in a peaceful smile, and as the sunlight bathed them both during these last few moments, Gabriel was reminded of the angel Jack Morrison was. He was never the angel.

Jack’s lips move, as if dispensing some last bits of age old wisdom, some adage, but it was peppered with the deep heaving as his body tried to find ways to harvest some form of life giving air to keep him continuing on. Gabriel leaned in, trying to piece together the snatches of words, his deep set brows crinkling in concentration.

“I don’t feel old Gabriel, I never did. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, but inside, I still feel like I’m 20, the very day we met. And…” here he pauses, caught in a coughing fit so bad that Gabriel felt his heart stop, thinking it would be the very thing that took Jack away. “You deserved Strike Commander so much more than me, and I’ll miss you too.”

Gabriel shook his head, pressing his lips to Jack’s softly. The breaths Jack took were still fast and ragged, but at least it was stabilized for now, as if Time has graciously allowed them this very last exchange.

“Gabriel,” he said, hands moving but barely, the both of them interlocking their fingers, “Old soldiers never die. And they don't fade away. I’ll be here with you,” he whispered, leaning his head against Gabriel’s broad chest, like a familiar pillow, the smell of truly coming home.

Their hands are interwoven so tightly at this moment, like brocade, as Gabriel begins to sing Jack one of the hymns he used to when they were younger. The tapestry that tells their story together nears its end, the threads that were weft together like their digits unraveling fast and furious from its spool as it seeks to tell the conclusion of two lovers, ripped apart then joined back together. Their tale as a bolt of cloth is not perfect, no well meaning person would ever buy it, what with the strong colors of jealousy, hatred, animosity, love, bewilderment and everything mish-mashed together on it, like a project amateurish and from a person who was but beginning to make his own designs. The designation on their lives was curious, emotionally charged and all but confusing, like an ocean, and Gabriel still felt that he wanted to explore its depths, but they were running out of air, out of time. 

_“And on that day, when my strength is failing, I’ll fight life’s final war with pain, and then as death gives way to victory, I’ll see the light of glory and I know, He lives.”_

Gabriel never knew the meaning of the song, he grew up a heathen, but it mattered not anyway, as Jack had loved the song. After all, Jack had been a practical mommy’s boy, to a point that even though his family had entirely disowned him as a result of his coming out, he still persisted in loving them, often sending them Christmas cards, and abandoned a mission to head back to Indiana to attend their funeral. His siblings had regarded him with a disgusted look, and he had all but been booted from the chapel if not for the pastor presiding over the service.

But right now, he felt almost conflicted inside, never truly knowing what it was like to fight the final war of life. Part of him felt jealous, part of him wondered why fate had been cruel enough to deal him this hand, where he would have to live the rest of his life alone without Jack.

His mind spun, thinking back to the blast that had all but killed him, the pain searing through his limbs again, a phantom pain that haunted him before and was coming back. He twitched involuntarily, singing the chorus of the hymn as if a mantra to tie him down from dissociating entirely at this very moment. He had to be strong, remain strong, for Jack, for himself.

At the bitter end, even in dying, they were like night and day, the dark meeting the light. Like how the caffeinated drinks were, the way milk dissolved in it, like the dark meeting the light and then becoming opaque, it was like a ghost meeting the corporeal body and then becoming one, as they locked in a final embrace.

Morrison had been like milk to coffee, taking the edge off Gabriel, being akin to his PR manager and all, while Gabriel had often heard from the man that it was his shadow that was being chased, and that Morrison thanked him for the way that Gabriel had shaped the Strike Commander he ended up being. In the silence, as Morrison leant in, Gabriel wrapped his arms instead around the frail body, which was shivering even though the room felt like an oven to him.

Morrison heaved, his breaths weaker and hastening ever again, reminding Gabriel that this was truly the end. Gabriel could feel the tension sag away from him and his hand trying to keep a hold back on him in this curious embrace, and he held him closer, not wanting to believe that this was truly the end. His eyelids are flickering now, and Morrison inclined his neck slowly, meeting Gabriel in a sweet, but faint kiss, straining like it was taking the last of his strength.

 Gabriel held his gaze, looking into pale blue eyes that are disoriented, confused, lost. Suddenly it’s almost as if Morrison doesn’t even recognize the man before him. Gabriel almost jumps, feeling like every second was a blade against his skin but he holds it. He won’t look away because this is sacred and anyway, he was long past the point of salvage anyway.

“Look at me, please,” Jack rasped. It’s not much, but it’s almost like his final words. It takes Gabriel by surprise, but he complied. “I want you to be the last thing I see.”

And so it is. At the end, mouthing those few lines of the hymn with Gabriel, Jack took a few deep breaths and sagged. His eyes closed. 

Jack was fast asleep now. Gabriel kicked himself, bile rising to his throat in anticipation and dread. _It won’t be long._

Gabriel wanted to shake Jack, wanted to wake him up, wanted himself to wake up from this nightmare, to believe that this was not the end. But he knew better.

Gabriel gathered his feelings, gathering him close, wrapping himself around Morrison. He kissed the face over and over, each scar, each wrinkle, each sunspot and along his jawline, almost in reverence of the man he holds.

He was all but half aware that he’s talking to Jack again but he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He might have been telling Jack that he loves him, might have been telling him he’s never loved anyone else and never will. Gabriel himself knew that he may be cursing Jack for leaving him. He really had no idea, not a single iota of it, not an inkling of the words that fell from his lips.

It didn’t matter. Those things were all true, whether Gabriel was telling him or not.

Jack took his last breath a few minutes later. Exhale, and then – nothing.

A broken emptiness washed over Gabriel, the manufactured angel of death at a loss in the face of death, actually.

Gabriel stared down at Jack’s face woodenly. It was not real. It couldn’t be.

He fought back tears, easy tears that threatened to spring to his face. Assassins didn’t cry. Mass murderers like him didn’t cry in the face of death.

_But was this just death?_

He knew that Morrison couldn’t hear him now. So he said it all again and this time he knew he was doing it. And he talked to him until his voice gave out.

 _There's a pale light that blossoms in everyone when they die and only Gabriel can see it._ One might call it a soul, another calls it life essence, while another might call it the basic matter that humans were created from. But whatever it was, Gabriel knew that the pale, pulsating orb that lay in the body in front of him was Jack Morrison. It might be his soul, his life essence, and whatever it was. It was beautiful. Like the man himself, he muses, quietly staring at the light that shone forth from the clothes chest, illuminating the cloth faintly from behind. He bites down on his lip, remembering the conversation from a while back.

_“Please, Gabriel,” he whispers, tears springing to his eyes. Gabriel shakes his head firmly._

_“It's not right,” he replies darkly, turning that he cannot see Jack’s face, contorted into a mask of pain, pleading with Gabriel._

_“Please-”_

_“No means no, Jack,” he huffs, trying to hide the emotion in his voice and trying ever so hard not to yell._

 " _Gabriel, I'm begging you, you're the only person I wanted to be with for my entire life!” Jack yells, launching into a coughing fit soon after. Gabriel turns back to ensure that he's not dying, then faces the window again._  

_“Jack, stop it. I am not ‘voring you’ or however you call it, I am most certainly NOT consuming your soul.”_

Gabriel reached out to touch Morrison’s chest, as the light grew stronger and wrapped around his fingers, illuminating each digit in an unearthly orange glow. The ethereal illumination seemed to seek him, flickering at the parts where his hand wasn't there, and growing immensely strong at the parts where their bodies met through the thin layer of fabric. It was almost like his heart still beat even if his body was cold, and Gabriel could feel its warmth encapsulated in the light that was Jack Morrison’s soul.

To get at it, Gabriel knew, he could just ghost over it, quickly consuming it. But at the same time, he didn't think that was a passing fit for his lover. Also, he didn't feel like this was something that he should do. 

To consume the soul of Jack and pay him proper homage would be messy, dirty, and downright abhorrent in its method, if Gabriel were to dissociate again as he did the last time. There were no two ways about it, and Gabriel all but cringed at the thought of Morrison’s body being a bloodied mess when he was done. 

His hands moved automatically, mechanically as instinct took over rationality and thorough thinking, picking up his cellphone to dial Angela’s number. Each second that ticked away, each ring felt like an eternity to him, shell-shocked and numb from what he had just witnessed, reality flying straight over his head like a complex joke was to McCree.

Angela picked up after what seemed to be two billion rings to him, and he opened his mouth and shut it again, as her concerned dulcet tones floated down the line, as he finally broke, letting out a loud sob. Angela understood within that very second, what had happened, as she whispered a soft ‘I'm coming, hold up Gabriel,’ into the receiver and ended the call, her feet hurrying out of the office and to the ward where Jack was. Was, because all that was left of him was the life essence that beat in his chest, waiting for Gabriel to consume it.

A soul by any other normal standards would have fizzled out, have been claimed by other supernatural beings, but be it the hand that Gabriel had placed on it, or the way both he and Morrison had been bound, whichever it was, it was keeping Jack’s soul pretty much grounded and tied to this mortal world. In his stupor, he heard the click clack of Angela’s heels down the hallway, the pitter patter and rush of the footwear as they hurried, and she entered the room, looking slightly disheveled, a bit the worse for the wear as she greeted the entire room with a silent, heavy sigh.

Her pocket was filled with all sorts of medical tools in a sterilized packet, and Gabriel suspected that she was in cahoots with Jack to allow him to consume the soul, or in essence, in this case, to pretty much vore Jack Morrison. Although still reeling from the chain of events, he squinted at the tiny pouch, a bit of his regular self slipping back in. When he finally spoke though, she already has an answer.

It was exactly as he thought. _And he did not like it one bit_.

He cringed at the thought of having to sully the fine specimen of a man that he loved, loves, and will never stop loving. He despised it, hated that the soul sought him out, because he wanted to grant Jack some semblance of humanity when he was finally lowered into the ground for real this time. Angela handed the small packet to him, and he all but flung it aside, unable to come to terms with Jack’s passing.

His hands trembled as she wordlessly picked it up, handing it back to him, her own eyes clouded with tears as she brought him into a hug, the tears streaming down his face. _Why did Jack have to make it so hard for him? It was so unfair._ Here he was, a man eternally trapped in limbo on earth, in a form that was neither human nor robot nor any proper matter on earth, and yet was not supernatural either, save for the need for soul consumption. 

In his misery, he phased in and out before Mercy’s eyes, as she watched his clothes fall off him like sea spray over the water, in thick waves like ominous clouds that fill the entire room and her lungs, and although she's crying, she's also choking on the thick haze that was Gabriel Reyes and his dissociation. 

Thoughts fly through his head, as he tried to recollect what it felt like to be human, what it was like to feel, and he let out a deep growl, his ghastly form pacing the floor like a black panther. There were too many eyes, too many hands, and Mercy was sure she saw a gun in the midst of it all, as his claws formed and reformed, reaching out to her, touching her and dissolving as soon as the tip of it reached her skin, ghosting through her.

His eyes bore into her, ruby red like the and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. She had known that in her experimentation and the subsequent sabotage of her revival tech on Reyes that he had become a monster, but what, she never knew the full extent of.

Almost in the smoke that surrounded her, she swore she could hear him speaking in tongues, the many mouths that formed in the smoke that covered her screaming the agony of Reaper’s murderous actions.

And yet, she could hear a heartbeat in the thick of it, a lone thumping, soft and rhythmic, and yet so misunderstood, weighed down and broken.

_In the end, Gabriel was still human._

The formless mass of smoke crawled over to Morrison, hunching over the body. As if terrified by Gabriel’s new form, the soul inside him flickered, trying to run. Almost immediately, Angela could see Gabriel’s form adapting, changing and shifting to be less intimidating, but still never fully the corporeal form that she first met him in.

A ghastly tongue flicked out and licked at Jack’s clothed chest, as Gabriel lifted his arms, his bony, clawed hands, and proceeded to rip the hospital gown open, the threads like mist to his sharp talons. Angela swore that she could feel him hesitate, let out a soft whine, licking at the soul that tempted him through the grey, lifeless skin that was Jack’s.

Something inside Gabriel stirred, a power struggle between his humanity and his monstrous tendencies, as he leapt like a great husky, bounding from one side of the bed to the other, five feet in the air and prowling around the entire room. Gabriel’s form was but smoke over bones, and the occasional flesh, but mostly cold, ghastly smoke that solidified only at his claws. And by Jove, did it hurt.

It felt almost as if hellfire was raining on him, the way he fought against his animalistic tendencies to keep himself from dissolving into mere particles, to try to keep himself together and to even retain this beastial form. When Jack Morrison passed, something in Gabriel snapped. When he tasted the soul of his former lover, a certain madness had washed over him, in glimpses of memories and times spent together. He wanted to consume the soul, the single sample and taste of it like heaven to him.

He wanted to. But he told himself that it wasn't him but the demons inside that asked for such an atrocity. Gabriel all but whimpered as he convinced himself this is what Jack was asking for, and yet, he felt weak, as if the human side of him was holding back, whispering to him that he would regret doing this.

The numerous eyes across his body glowed red, and the mouths on his body rasped and bit on empty air, hankering for a taste of that beautiful specimen of a soul. In his mind, he felt trapped, not knowing if to act on his instincts or his rationality. He turned to face Angela, who regarded him with a look of helplessness as he bent over Jack, poised to feed.

“Do what you must,” she said firmly, although her face is contorted into a grimace, mainly from the smoke that washed over her, the smoke that smelt like rotting flesh and burning charcoal, threatening to overpower her.

The monstrous being that was Reaper, or Gabriel Reyes bent its head reverently to Morrison’s chest, where the faint light of the soul still pulsated, as he bared his fangs, nipping first at the paper thin, aged skin, and breaking it to draw blood, which seeped out with some pus, the taste of it all making the human side of Gabriel cringe. Sure enough, as Reaper, his tastes had grown exceedingly morbid, but to consume his own friend--no, his best friend and lover--that was a matter questionable and frowned down upon by whatever semblance of humanity he had left. 

He shook his head and continued at the task, his talons peeling apart the skin and muscle, diving deep to find the heart, the very muscle encapsulated by the soul. Jack’s soul was almost a perfect red, like blood. Most souls would have taken on a much more orange tone, but Jack Morrison in essence was not just an ordinary soul. Angela let out a soft sigh that she didn't know she'd even been holding in, watching as Gabriel began licking at the flames of soul essence, a strange look crossing his face as the eyes that dotted his body flickered, then shut.

_Once again, Morrison was his savior. The one thing grounding him, making him more humane._

Gabriel had all but licked the tip of the soul when memories of Jack’s came flooding in, and the earthy smell of a field well tilled filled his nose, and there he was, a young child, not himself, but instead, Jack, wide eyed and innocent, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he lifted a tiny wheelbarrow full of corn and laughed, like wind chimes tinkling in the distance. Through Jack’s eyes, he could see a tall silhouette in the foreground, one that he recognized as Morrison Sr. Morrison Sr. lifted his son up, as a loud gong sounded for dinner.

The scene shifted, and Gabriel was but barely aware that he himself was probably delving deeper into the soul, as he experienced more memories. Through another set of eyes, he experienced Jack’s first crush, his first kiss, first gay kiss, in general, an entire camera roll of his growing up. He felt his heart melt, as if it was going to explode, when Jack carried his baby sister, proudly grinning at a camera, and the Polaroid came out, and the little Jennifer clamped her tiny jaws violently on the little slip, all while his parents try frantically to pry her mouth off it. 

The entirety of his childhood and youth slid by, and soon enough, Morrison was shipped off to the army. He saw himself, sees his brusque, cold side, and felt the irritation at first, burning in Jack’s veins, then as they were sent on a mission together in New Mexico, the annoyance turned to camaraderie. He remembered those nights, and seeing them again all but stops him in his tracks. He wanted to freeze time, freeze it to the very night he realized that the man sitting beside him was the most beautiful person in the world. Jack was reciting a poem, but he only caught snatches of it, feeling the struggle to keep himself together again.

_“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.”_

Gabriel remembered this part, he remembered it all too well, watching himself pull down his beanie to hide his laughter and mocking Morrison over it, to see the look of confusion cross his face, then a look of understanding, that army men weren’t ‘such wusses’ as he had kindly been told. The night sky glittered, like the sands of time that sent him away to a few months later.

In that memory, Morrison ran into him in the hall, they both were enlisting to Overwatch. They both adjourned to their room, their lips clashing violently against each other, feeling the heat of the desert base as clothes couldn’t come off fast enough, and their hands roamed over each other’s bodies hungrily. He felt the rawness of emotion, and he could not restrain himself, his own body created hands that ran over his shadowy form, matching the exact same passion that they had felt.

It was the same with every sexual scene that Jack felt, and Gabriel is exhausted by the time he goes through about ten scenes of them fucking in various places, yet he remembers every word that was spoken between the both of them like it was yesterday. He cringed, already feeling himself slowly turning into smoke once more, and leant back, excruciatingly pulling himself from the memory stream, as he raised his head, still a black mass, but more solid. Angela sat in the corner, an almost clinical sheen to her eyes as they both regarded each other.

“Angela,” he muttered, his voice coming out in various tones, a chorus of voices. Legion, the church would have called him, the flock of demons chased out into the pigs. “Angela, I cannot continue further.”

She looks at him in concern, although the experience of him consuming the soul, and his subsequent reaction was fuel for her research, in the end, Gabriel was still yet her friend, albeit a complex, monstrous one at that. She slipped her glasses into her pocket, gingerly making her way over to Gabriel. She had watched operations, performed them on men on the brink of death, but nothing had prepared her for the sight which lay before her, the man like a monster over his prey.

Hannibal Lecter and his sins were nothing in comparison to the mass that lay before her, Jack Morrison, and the way the skin that Gabriel had touched charred at the edges, smoking and reforming similar to the cells that made up Gabriel Reyes. She peered at the body, which was now covered in blood, and how it felt such a contrast to the peaceful, rested face that was plastered onto Jack’s head.

It was then she understood Gabriel’s hesitation in consuming the soul, it was not so much a matter of sustenance and wishes than it was truly to respect the temporal, earthly host that Jack’s body had been.

Bravely, she lifted a hand to run it along the mass of black smoke and goo that was Gabriel, or was it Reaper? He snarled instinctively at the touch, the material squelching and moulding around her hand, threatening to consume her as well. His eyes blinked as one at her, but the only emotion she found was from the two at the front? Was that even the front? Two eyes, adorned with whites at the sides blinked at her, looking like a deer in the headlights, looking ever so pained.

 _Angela,_ they ask _, what went wrong?_

But she has no answer. 

Gabriel shifted off the bed, standing a distance from the bed at the window, and she could almost hear as his heartbeat grew louder once more, as he tried to compose himself. Sometimes, he succeeded. A hand fell to the floor like it was nothing, and eyes turned to face her, but only one faces front to cruel reality. 

Eyeballs began to litter the floor, before dissolving and rejoining the mass of smoke. 

She knew, she knew all too well.

Gabriel was thinking. He then turned to face her, quickly summarizing the memories to the best of his ability, without dissociating. And then he paused, all but dissolving into a mess of smoke. She knew what was next.

Morrison’s promotion.

That’s why he stopped.

He looked afraid, he reminded her of children on a battlefield, when bombs rained on them like they were of unlimited supply, and his eyes flickered, his body coalescing and stretching, finally forming the man who watched as the UN gave his position, his army, to a man his junior in terms of fighting, and who had just been his PR, a pretty face through the entirety of the Omnic Crisis. His clothing was sky blue with darker cerulean accents, and he was without his trademark beanie.

Everything was perfect, down to the medals that are pinned to his pressed suit. And he dissolved, shrieking painfully. He could not face it, the years of pain that resulted from his jealousy and Morrison’s pride. Wanted to deny it. There were medals made of shadow all over the floor now, and a chorus of voices chanting ‘kill, kill, kill,’ amongst other loud cries that accused Morrison of being a stuck up, over-excited boy and utterly inept leader. 

Gabriel shut his eyes, all his eyes, as his smoky form filled the room again, and then formed a man, a walking skeleton, without eyes, his eye sockets empty and his entire body a massive lump of other bodies. Putrid flesh and its rotting scent permeated the room like an unwelcome fragrance, and he retreated to the corner, his arms and claws reaching out to the body that lay still on the bed, pulling soul fragments from Morrison and assimilating it into the black mass.

And then it hit him. Struck him, actually. His throat felt dry and his particles compressed into a ball so tiny it felt like he had disappeared. Morrison, that trusting idiot, had just put forth one condition that both of them be strike commanders. And the minute the council said yes, he had just signed his own papers and skipped off gleefully.

What an idiot, Gabriel mused, laughing inwardly. Ten years of war and he could still be that gullible. Admittedly, Morrison was the least plausible a character for Strike Commander, if there's one thing that sunshine couldn't do, it was to lead.

He had watched on the battlefield as Morrison faltered in critical situations, fell back too early, and retreated too fast, leaving Gabriel to cover for him. And in a way, Gabriel had been granted some semblance of strike commandership. He watched through Jack’s eyes, feeling confusion, and a mask of happiness as he gets congratulated on the position, only to watch himself slinking away into the shadows, and as Jack busied himself with entertaining all the reporters and army heads.

Something that should have been rightfully his, by his military prowess.

But in all due respect for the dead, he suppressed the familiar feeling of jealousy, instead retreating into his shell, tendrils of his smoke reaching over to harvest more of Jack’s soul. The pain was almost agonizing, as he watched their subsequent falling out and disagreements with regards to almost everything, and the lines etched themselves into Jack’s face, as he stared into the mirror, telling himself to put on a brave front for his troops.

Gabriel watched as Jack loses Ana Amari, and the crippling grief he felt that day, and the sense of loneliness. His body once again dissociated as a response, begging Angela and asking her why he had been so blind. It almost hurt him as much as it hurt Morrison, when news finally reached Blackwatch facilities that Ana Amari has been presumed dead, and UN staff had strictly forbidden his team from going to look for her. Gabriel remembered his rage, except he now saw it through Morrison’s eyes, bewildered, confused and hurt at the loss of their mutual best friend, aide, comrade and confidante.

_“Why did you not inform me earlier?” Gabriel’s teeth were gritted, and his entire body shook as he slammed his fists onto the polished tabletop in the Overwatch headquarters. Morrison, for all that he was worth, didn't bat an eyelid as he continued to regard the man before him, disheveled as he was, with his curls poking out of his beanie and his eyes dark with sleep deprivation. The Latino leant across the table, grabbing Morrison by his coat lapels as the badges he had pinned on clatter to the floor noisily, their faces but inches from each other._

_Gabriel’s eyes were wild, especially after receiving direct orders that he would most definitely not be able to even go and try to retrieve Ana’s body. He rasps each and every single accusation at Morrison, as the blonde’s eyes look down into his, and he takes it to be a sign of indignance, shoving Jack back into the wall in disgust._

_“Gabriel look, it wasn't my decision, and we just got back this morning,” Jack started, before he gets cut off by Reyes again._

_“We have a private channel, pendejo,” he growled, before he turned his back, storming out of the room, slamming the door with extra force as if to prove a point._

_Inside and alone with his own thoughts, Morrison wept._  

Gabriel has all but assumed his position like the corner ghost in those hospital horror movie cliches, not regarding anybody, but to continue consuming and savoring Morrison’s soul in a strange manner. His tentacles continued to harvest the substance, and each lump he takes sent him into small convulsions, which Mercy can only assume is from the memories he faces.

There were times when a white fluid spewed from multiple parts of his “body”, and she assumed, and rightly so that he was having some recollection of a sexual occurrence. Although she could not see the soul like he could, his vivid description of the experience when they had first became friends again was descriptive enough for her to understand, and she watched from the seat by the window, as the once proud commander she knew regressed into a miserable ball of smoke, and the other one lay dead, his entire body turning an entirely unhealthy shade of pure black as his soul was harvested from him.

If she had a counter, in the name of her science, she would have calculated the rate at which Gabriel’s modified genetics had begun to wreak havoc on Morrison’s dead cells, reviving them and regenerating them as well, only to have them die but seconds later and regenerate at the same time. But she didn't, and it didn't matter any way.

It took him forever to consume the soul and in the process, Angela slipped into a dreamland, where the red eyes of Gabriel chased her down the hallways of the hospital, and his lips, with its teeth sharp as knives, accused her of being an engineered monster.

At the end, she found herself falling into a deep hole, and there were hands that reached out to her, trying to help her up. She grabbed on to them, and soon found they were all but gauntlets, Reaper’s gauntlets that dissolve in the wind like a lie.

And then they're calling her name.

She was on a podium. But all that was below is all her experiments, Genji, Reyes, and all the other Overwatch agents and bodies sent to her.

Dismembered body parts. Reaching out to her. They were throwing legs, throwing arms, throwing toes, throwing fingers. Blood spattered over her like a lycoris flower in bloom, an apt finish for the demonic angel that sought knowledge over everything else, bound for hell.

She trembled at it, lashing out to fling them all back at the audience. A hand latched onto her, tapping a steady rhythm into her shoulder, as she blacks out in her dream, waking up to the same tapping, but instead from Reyes.

The room was but lit by the lights from above Morrison’s bed, stark and empty, its sheets bloodstained and burnt. The body was empty, and Reyes’ hoodie was now more a maroon tone than his deep grey before, while his eyes sparkled a variety of colors, from the brown of his past to ruby reds and a deep indigo-purple.

He wordlessly curled up in a ball, explaining in a hoarse whisper that he eventually burnt and absorbed the entirety of Morrison’s particles into his, and leant his head back, eyes closing and letting out a slow, shaky breath.

“I can't live without him, Angela,” he said, choking back a sob. “Can't you reverse this curse?”

His eyes open a fraction, and Angela can all but see the way his irises contract and dilate, as if he was about to dissociate again. She pursed her lips, pressing them into a singular, straight line as she bit down on the bottom lip, drawing her own blood. She wished she was the caduceus angel that she had always been thought to be. A few extended moments of her silence resigns Gabriel Reyes to his twisted fate and curse, and he buried his head in his hands, finally coughing out a broken “go.”

And she went.

He felt nothing. Nothing at all, when he tried to drown out the noises in his head with nicotine and alcohol, or when he tried to comfort Jesse. The cowboy is now 70, and it took a toll on him when he heard the news. He's 70, but still sprightly enough to fight the news.

His first thought was to rush to Peacekeeper and fire the entire round into Gabriel, but when they don't work, he cries. Berating God, berating Gabriel, blaming everything he could. Eventually he calmed down, and by then, Gabriel has boiled a kettle of water, and proceeds to make tea for Jesse, just the way they both love it, sickeningly sweet to take away the bitterness that haunts the both of them now. 

Jesse still lights up those thick cigars of his, chewing on the end, rolling the moist ball of substance in his mouth, only spitting it out to drink the tea that Gabriel prepared, which had by then grown ice cold. Gabriel said nothing, just sat in silence, his shoulders drooping downward, no longer the proud man he once was.

There was, of course eventually, a memorial service. Gabriel presided over it, donning a pair of non prescription glasses to mask his looks, and with a neatly pressed blazer and a strikingly red tie. His eyes look haggard, even though he had been supposedly frozen in time at his late forties, and he runs his tongue over his parched lips, flipping through the sheath of papers in his hands.

Many of the new Overwatch members are puzzled as to why there was such a huge and hush hush ceremony, and the chattering grows louder and louder, as Reyes makes his way to the podium. He was nervous, and the entire of the Old Guard can see it. Ana, bless her feisty soul, managed a gorgeous grin that spread across her haggard face, before her head slowly lolls back again and she falls back asleep.

Gabriel was terrified.

And terrified was but barely description enough to explain the nervousness he felt in his heart. He felt his hands trembling, and the sea of people looking up at him expectantly begin to swim before his eyes. Smoke billowed from his fingertips and he pressed his hands together in an attempt to keep himself together. The screen that was behind him bears the words **_SOLDIER: 76:_ ** _The Real One Behind the Mask_ , and Gabriel swallowed the nervousness that bubbled up in his throat, trying to muster the face he usually had on during press conferences.

Except that he was alone this time.

A tear slips from his eye, heaving a deep sigh as he crushes the paper in his hand and taps the mic. This wasn't the UN. This wasn't Blackwatch, this wasn't Overwatch, this wasn't Talon.

This was a memorial, a ceremony in remembrance of his friend, his best friend, lover, and husband. Both men had decided to not wear rings, instead settling for each other's dog tags, such that they would have one of each name. Reyes looked up into the crowd a last time, and he swore that at the empty seat in the front row in the middle of Angela and Ana, he could see Jack Morrison again, a spectral memory of the past, with his blue eyes shining and shooting him a thumbs up, his lips in that stupid, dorky smile that he often donned. He could feel the tears welling up again, as he put on a stoic mask, a serious scowl that frightened even the hardest of criminals. 

“Dear friends, today we are gathered here, in a private conference, to understand the enigma that is the man, Soldier: 76. Now while many of you may be confused as to why Overwatch as an organization this large has decided to commend this relatively unknown, unnamed individual, I implore you to lend me your ears, for his story is one that is as important as every individual one of you in this room. For he was none other than the First Official Strike Commander, Jack Morrison.”

A collective hushed whisper echoes around the room as he can feel the frigid glare of every person focused on him. He tried to block it out, but a low chant of Reaper, Talon, Betrayer began to grow, before Jesse, bless his soul, grabs Lucio’s megaphone and yells loudly into it for them to keep quiet.

One by one, the main members of the new and old guard stood, even Ana, who managed but thirty valiant seconds without her walker, giving a respectful salute to Gabriel. His eyes fall on the empty seat, and he swears he can see Jack standing there, in his worn out ‘76’ biking jacket, giving him the corniest grin and a cheesy salute. Warmth spread through his heart like a spring breeze as gentle as it was calming, and he gave them a salute back, his body squared and alert, every inch the former super soldier he was.

“My name, as you all already know, is Gabriel Reyes. You all know one side of my story, but Jack, he knew everything of me. And so today,” he paused, surveying the front row once more, “I will tell you a story. A story of a human man and his Reaper."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! I would first of all like to thank my beta readers sapphyrelily, mistahmuffins, thesandhut and lenadexil and anyone else who had to suffer through the initial drafts of this emotional trash :^)) I'm sorry for killing y'all I love y'all so much.  
> That aside thANK YOU FOR NOT CRYING TOO MUCH I HOPE  
> lyrics are from The Paper Melody- Pirouette Prisoner


End file.
